


all candor and style in the crook of your smile

by p3trichor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Nolan Your Virgo Is Showing, Post-Break Up, Sexuality Crisis, is idiots to lovers a tag because it should be, maybe some voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p3trichor/pseuds/p3trichor
Summary: It’s a photo of Nolan on his knees with someones’ fingers in his mouth, lips slick with spit. Travis flicks by it almost too fast and he’s only got seconds to decide if he wants to screenshot it, if he wants to just give up the ghost right then and there. Except Travis’s phone freezes momentarily and then the group refreshes,sidcros87, Bert59 and 14 others took a screenshot!It’s gone before Travis even has time to process it and he already wasted his replay of the day on a stupid video of a stupid fish that Hayes caught.Can you send me that screenshotTravis texts Bertuzzi before he can overthink it, his dick already stirring in his sweats. Tuzzi sends back the cry-laughing emoji and then the screenshot before Travis can be too annoyed at him.Or, Nolan is being weird about Travis's break-up and TK is maybe not straight.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick, Travis Konecny/Tyler Bertuzzi
Comments: 42
Kudos: 536





	all candor and style in the crook of your smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penaltyboxed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penaltyboxed/gifts).

> im new to hockey fandom please be nice i am just an innocent flyers fan with brainrot who wrote most of this drunk and ive never proofread or researched anything in my life. sorry for everything. cant wait to single-handedly row this tuzzi/tk ship myself tho

##

As it turns out, Carter Hart is kind of a slut.

Like, okay, it’s not that Travis thought that he was a _ prude _ or anything but something about Carter’s face and demeanor just really didn’t strike him as a guy who was actively sliding into multiple DM’s after a game. 

So when Carter jumps on TK’s back on the way out of Wells Fargo chanting _ Teeks teeks teeks teeks, _ Travis really isn’t expecting an invite to go out. He’s more expecting, like, _ come over and play GTA _or something. 

“Let us get you drinks,” Carter insists, wrapping his forearms around Travis’s neck and hooking around him like a koala bar. Provy and Loughty aren’t far behind and Travis has always been one to fall pretty easily into peer pressure, giving a half-hearted shrug in both agreement and to dislodge Carter. 

They end up at Xfinity, because there’s literally nothing else within walking distance and Ivan wants crabfries. They end up at 1100 Social, Ivan satisfied with a bucket of crabfries and Scott handing off a bottle of Blue Moon to Travis in exchange for a round of cornhole. It’s only after a few tosses when Travis realizes they’ve lost Carter. 

Ivan only finds him after getting their next round of drinks, settling into the firepit island across from Travis. “He got, like, three girls’ numbers in the time it took me to get two beers,” Ivan says, nodding towards the outdoor bar where Carter is tucked close to a short brunette, one hand on her forearm. Ivan’s tone is a mix of surprised and impressed. 

A feeling he’s managed to suppress relatively well quickly flips Travis’s gut and he stares hard at his beer bottle until it settles. It must be a long pause, though, because Scotty sidles closer and rests a hand on Travis’s shoulder. And Travis isn’t lonely. He’s not. It’s just--

“I don’t know what I’m going to do this summer,” he says slowly, trying to keep his voice even and not looking away from the sweating beer label on his bottle that he digs a fingernail into, “I can’t stay in Port Stanley the whole time or I’ll go out of my mind.” 

“Stay here,” Scotty prompts gently. “Other than stinking like hot garbage, Philly’s not so bad in the summer. The beach is only an hour out. What’s Canada got that Philly doesn’t?”

_ Karly _Travis almost bites out in a flash of frustration but he just frowns harder down at his beer. Ivan pipes up, “besides, if you’re gonna be here six years? You might as well settle in now.” 

“TK’s staying?” Carter appears out of nowhere, buzzed and with a girl’s sharpie-handwriting of numbers scrawled across the back of his hand as he claps Travis excitedly on the back, “you should! Coots has a house on LBI! You can come to XTU, I went last year with Patty and he kept talking about how much you’d like it--” 

And, yeah, okay, maybe spending the summer in the states isn’t the worst idea in the world. Besides, Karly never liked Philly all that much anyway when she visited so the risk of running into her here was slim to none. The thought of actual distance between them this time--and not just a few weeks off before they’d inevitably bump into each other at GT’s--loosens the knot in Travis’s chest, a little bit. How it’s harder to fall into old habits when the habit is eight hours and a border crossing away. 

##

“Think I’m gonna stay down here for offseason,” Travis breeches the topic as casually as he can as he unlaces his skates. Nolan’s gone still beside him, arm still half-way out of his jersey. “I mean, with Karly and everything. And if I’m here for the long-haul then, like,” Travis tries not to turn it into rambling, kicking off a skate, “I should know more than just Philly October to March, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Nolan allows and Travis can’t get a read on him, Nolan glancing over once he’s tugged his jersey off. His eyes are bright but his mouth is set in its usual expressionless line. “Is that okay?” Travis asks before he can stop himself.

This gets a confused smirk from Patty, who turns and sits next to Travis to unlace his own skates. Nolan cocks his head sideways to look over at him. “You need my permission?” he asks dryly, still smiling. 

“Fuck off,” Travis replies with a toothy grin and, no, he _doesn’t _need Nolan’s permission, but the fact that he now at least has it makes Philly-in-the-Off-Season a whole lot easier to stomach.

##

Something Travis hadn’t accounted for in his post-breakup haze was how horny he was. It had been a long time since he’d gone more than a month without having some girl around, especially during the season. He thinks he’s done a great job keeping his heartbreak-horny shit under wraps, except maybe he jacks off more than he usually would, so his face burns hot with embarrassment when Hayes ducks close on the bench after a first period celly against the Devils. “Did you mean to kiss my neck?” Hayes asks, voice low and eyebrows raised. He’s mostly half-teasing because it’s hard to tell what body part is touching where on who when there’s a mashed group hug up against the glass but Travis feels himself blush deeply anyway. And _no_, he didn’t _mean_ to but maybe he had put his mouth against Hayesy’s throat for a longer moment than appropriate. Hayes waggles his tongue at Travis. “Didn’t know you were into me like that, TK.”

It’s probably a good thing that Travis is such a physical player, anyway, so it’s not all that far out of the ordinary if he’s getting into more scrums or hanging off teammates for a few beats longer than usual. 

Most of them, though, don’t seem to mind handsy-Travis on the ice. It’s no secret by now that Karly and he were over and that clearly, TK wasn’t used to being _ single _ single. He adopts a habit of resting his head on Loughty’s shoulder during AV’s pre-game locker room talks and Hayes tugs at the tuft of hair that sticks out of Travis’s helmet every night after the national anthem. Even Voracek thumps Travis on the shoulder regularly when they glide past each other at practice.

So Travis really doesn’t think anything of it when he sees Patty in the locker room after the longest practice they’ve had that Nolan makes it all the way through. He crosses the room in three long bounds and wraps his arms hard around Nolan’s waist, snuffling into the back of his neck “good practice today, bud!”

It’s an embrace he’s given almost every player who’s returned to the ice after a break or injury—hell, he just greeted Ivan with a full leaping-into-his-arms yelp when the kid got back from wrist surgery two weeks ago—but Nolan goes rigid like Travis just dumped a bucket of snakes at his feet. “Travis,” Nolan says, voice tight. Travis can feel his arms flexing from where Travis has pinned them against his torso, like he’s considering flinging TK off. “Thanks.”

Travis extricates himself from Nolan and hopes to god he’s not blushing but Nolan’s not even looking at him, anyway, staring hard at the floor with his jaw twitching. There’s an awkward beat between them, TK not knowing if he should, what, apologize? Or what. “We’re going to Ott’s, you should come,” he says instead.

Nolan does come, which is a silent surprise that Travis tries to not get too weird-excited about as they fill in one of the back corners, pushing three tables together. Nolan sits at the opposite end of the huddle from Travis but he doesn’t really have time to think about it because Carter is sliding over and tucking himself neatly into Travis’s side.

“So Teeks,” he says seriously, wrapping an arm around Travis’s shoulders and forcing his full attention to the goalie. From across the table Sanny goes, _ oh, god _. Carter raises a middle finger at him but doesn’t take his eyes off Travis. “We were thinking.”

“_ You _ were thinking,” Sanny clarifies and Carter just flaps his still-extended finger in the air. “ _ Some of us _were thinking you need to just get on Tinder, bro.”

“I was on the anti-Tinder side,” Kubes grumbles when he arrives with a tray of beer pitchers. “Because you have to put your height in your bio or girls won’t want you. Might not work out for you, TK.”

“Is this an intervention?” Travis wonders out loud.

“_ Or _,” Carter presses on, raising his voice to push on with this fucking ambush, “you can just start coming out with me.”

Travis glances towards the head of the table, where the waitress has started taking orders, and catches Nolan’s eye by accident. He had been talking animatedly with Hayes about _ you have to stop giving out my Hulu password _ but Carter’s comment had caused him to go still and stony again and he looks away from Travis. Carter is still blabbering, “because _ bro _ , trust me, hey, listen? Ladder 15? It’s where all the puckbunnies are. Or there’s that bar at Xfinity with the mechanical bull if you want, like, _ cowgirl-style _ —hey, ow,” Carter gets cut off when Frost flicks him in the ear to shut him up while the waitress finishes out the table’s orders. Carter pouts and cups his red ear while chugging down half his beer. Travis throws a hopeless look towards Scotty who shrugs and makes a defeated face. “You really do just have to get laid though, Teeks.” He leans closer and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Because if your weird horny-scrums get you hurt, AV _ and _G will hunt you down in the fucking street.”

Travis chokes on his beer and a coughing fit ensues. Carter pats him on the back sympathetically. 

“If I come out with you will you _ never bring this up again, _” Travis deadpans. 

So that’s how they end up at Second Story in Old City, Travis and Carter. Really, it’s not actually that hard to pick up girls, maybe because he’s out with Carter who already has a known thing with puckbunnies. Carter introduces Travis to Megan, a tall brunette and Travis shakes the feeling that she was carefully selected based on the fact that she’s the complete polar opposite of Karly. Not that it matters, really, Travis decides after slamming back a shot of tequila and grimacing around a lime wedge, because she’s just going to suck his dick in the bathroom. Carter gives him an exaggerated wave when Megan hooks her thumbs through TK’s belt hoops and tugs him towards the back of the building. 

It’s fine, really, and Travis is kind of surprised how easy it is. He’s gotten off with strangers before but when he was with Karly it was always layered with guilt and suspicion and worry. They cheated on each other, never classifying it as an open relationship and when Megan picks up her speed on her knees Travis’s stomach flips with the usual feeling of guilt right before he comes. Which. Is something he’ll probably have to work out with a therapist at some point or another.

Carter leaves before he can bully Travis into taking Megan home so Travis buys her one more drink and takes her number just to be polite but they both know he’s not going to call her. 

He doesn’t think about it for the rest of the weekend. He’s almost forgotten the whole outing until practice monday, Hayesy in the locker room asking how everyone’s weekend was. Carter pipes up: “TK got blown in an Old City bathroom.” 

Nolan, next to Travis, chokes on his water. 

“_ Finally _,” Loughty groans. “Maybe now we’ll stop getting asked about TK’s roughing penalty streak.” 

Nolan’s still coughing and Travis reaches over and rubs his back. “You really went out with Carter?” Nolan asks around a forced laugh. “Didn’t think you were serious about that.” 

Travis lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It was fun. You should come next time.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Nolan bites with an eyeroll, “going to fuckin’ Xfinity to watch you and Carter pick up girls? That’s a great time.”

Travis frowns. “Okay, it’s not--” 

“I’m teasing,” Nolan says in a voice that suggests he’s definitely not teasing. “Use protection.” 

It’s a rare joke coming from Nolan and it should make Travis feel better but instead it buries something hot and angry deep in his gut. Because Nolan _ never _ made an effort when Karly or Taylor was in town, never gave a single shit about Travis’s relationships and now suddenly cares? Nolan had fish-mouthed when Travis moped his way into Nolan and Kevin’s place and laid on the couch, admitting “we broke up” into the crevice of the couch cushions. Nolan was the first one Travis has told and he was the only one who knew for at least two weeks because Travis didn’t know what to _ do _ about it, he had had a girlfriend and then he didn’t. And maybe Nolan wasn’t the best person for seeking out sympathy but he’s Travis’s best friend. 

Nolan hadn’t said anything, just walked over and picked up Travis’s head and put it in his lap and Travis _ hadn’t _cried, he hadn’t, but Nolan carded his hands through Travis’s hair and sniffed out Kevin’s stash of weed for them to share a joint. “It’s her loss,” Nolan mumbled, barely audible, and Travis had pretended he didn’t hear it. 

##

Missouri sucks. 

Travis can’t remember the last time he was this nervous for _ anything _and it’s worse that he’s on his own, not even Patty or his mom or Karly to let him nervous-ramble or their road-trip Xbox to blow off steam before the weekend really kicks off. He tells himself he’s going to chill out when he gets to the hotel, half-expecting the flight out to have taken more out of him than it actually did. He sits on his bed after a shower in orange and black checked pajama pants, knees bouncing irritably while he wastes time on his phone until a suitable hour to go to bed. He only lasts about fifteen minutes before he shucks his lounge pants for jeans and a hoodie, pocketing his wallet and roomkey. A lap around the hotel bar never hurt anyone. 

TK is both wildly over and under dressed. There’s lots of players probably fresh off interview rounds, full suits and button downs but just as many late-arrivals like Travis, hoodies and flip-flops and basketball shorts. Travis is nursing a rum and coke and crushing peanut shells under the heel of his palm on the bar when someone sidles up next to him and raps his knuckles against the dark wood until the bartender makes his way over. He orders a Corona and reaches to share the bowl of peanuts that TK is currently making a mess of across the bar.

“We’re gonna have to stick together,” the guy says and when Travis turns he recognizes him almost immediately, Bertuzzi from Detroit, grinning toothlessly. “You’re the only one Philly sent, yeah?” 

“Yup,” Travis chimes, popping the _ p _ as he extends a hand. “Tyler. Jesus, good to meet you, man.” 

“You cross-checked me last time we were in Philly,” Tyler chirps but his smile has only gotten bigger, teasing. Travis’s neck gets hot but then Tyler tips his beer bottle forward and clinks it against TK’s glass. “It’s good to meet you too, buddy. Big fan.” (It’s still really fucking wild, to hear that from other players, from other _ good _players.)

“Listen,” Travis sighs, reaching out to squeeze Tyler’s shoulder. He’s dressed somewhere between the rest of the crowd-- still in mostly a good suit, dress pants and an open blazer but he’s by far not the best-dressed in the room. He’s wearing Gucci slides and his shirt rumpled, the top buttons at his throat unbuttoned. His hair is half-pulled back and messily held with a bright pink hairtie. If it wasn’t for the fading yellow bruise high on his cheekbone and the missing front tooth, he’d almost look like a fucking influencer or something. Travis kind of loves him. “And I mean this in the nicest way possible, bud: your team blows.”

“You’re fucking telling me,” Tyler huffs good-heartedly before taking a long swig from his beer. He tips his head back and Travis watches the clean, pale column of his throat bob with the drink. “They only sent me because they had to send _ someone _. Larkin straight up told people to not vote for him because he wanted the weekend off.” 

“I thought we were sending G again for sure,” Travis admits, chewing on his straw. “Philly only sent me because of my chirps.”

Tyler laughs and Travis is struck by how goofy it is; he does vaguely remember checking Tuzzi a few months ago and only knows how mean the kid can look on the ice, missing tooth snarl and all. “Nah, I’m sure that’s not true. We had a lot of fun playing you. All the guys on the bench were like, _ who the hell is 11 _, they didn’t know what to do with you.” 

Travis grins into his glass and Tyler settles into the stool next to him, peeling off his jacket and he’s quiet for a few minutes while he rolls up his shirt sleeves. “You wanna take bets on the skills stuff tomorrow?” he asks with a lopsided grin. 

“Well, I feel like I _ have _to pick you for accuracy, now,” Travis teases. Tyler sticks out a hand and says, “I’ll put $50 on you for speed.” 

Tyler shakes his hand but he’s laughing, “you’re gonna be out fifty bucks, then.” He nods towards Tyler’s outstretched forearm, the black symbols inked starkly across the skin. “What are those.”

“My siblings sun signs?” Tyler replies with an eyebrow quirked. Tyler mimics his expression. “You know, like. Horoscopes and stuff?” 

“I don’t know mine,” Travis says. They’re still holding hands, Travis turning Tyler’s wrist gently to get a better look at the tattoo. “When’s your birthday?” Tyler asks. 

“March. 11.”

“You’re a Pisces,” Tyler grins. “Hey, me too.” He breaks their handshake to fish his phone out of his pocket and taps away at the screen a few times and then turns it towards Travis. A horoscope app is open. “Today it told us we’d be making new friends and, well.” Tyler waves an arm at the bar around them. 

Travis’s brow furrows. “You believe this stuff?” 

Tyler puts a hand against his chest, mock-offended, “You don’t? Are we not making friends right now?” 

Travis rolls his eyes and waves down the bartender for two more drinks. 

##

They end up back in Tyler’s room, because he was smart and at least brought his Nintendo Switch with him and TK all but begs him to let him at least come play a couple rounds of Super Smash Bros. 

Tyler beats him three times with ease and Travis flops back against the headboard and pouts. “We’re an XBox team,” he grumbles. 

“Sure, bud,” Tyler teases, “whatever makes you feel better.” He stands and stretches and he’s just as skinny-lean as Patty is, maybe moreso, forearms pulling taut as he reaches for the ceiling. He tosses his switch controllers to the bed behind him. “Play a few solo rounds, I’m gonna shower.”

Travis is halfway through getting his ass beat by the computer’s Kirby--fuckin _ Kirby _\-- when the bathroom door clicks open and Tyler comes back out in black boxers and scrubbing a towel through his hair. “Any better?” 

Travis glares at him and Tyler plops himself down on the foot of Travis’s bed and watches Travis hopelessly mash buttons in an attempt to kick the little pink bastard off the edge of the starship stage. Travis tries to keep his eyes trained on the TV but he keeps glancing over at Tyler’s back, a blossom of mottled yellow bruises spreading across his shoulder blade. Travis leans forward and presses a thumb into the skin and Tyler yelps and then realizes the bruise, rubs a hand over his shouldercap. “Blackwood. On the Devils? Checked me on center ice.”

“Bro,” Travis says, half-an apology, and then rucks up his own t-shirt to show him the green-tinged bruise along his own ribcage. “Fuckin’ Devils. We played them, like, four days after you.”

Tyler hisses sympathetically and reaches out, prods gently at Travis’s rib. “No penalty, I’m sure.”

“Nope,” Travis replies. Tyler reaches up and tweaks Travis’s nipple and Travis kicks out with a squawk but then goes still, one hand of Tyler’s settling on Travis’s ankle to keep him from making contact. 

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” Travis says to fill the silence. Tyler pulls lightly at the hair on Travis’s calf and raises his eyebrows. “So, like. If you know anyone who’s looking for a hookup this weekend.”

“Are you straight?” Tyler asks evenly and Travis feels himself go red. Tyler shimmies up the bed next to Travis and grabs his phone from the nightstand, laying on his side and propping himself up with an elbow. “Tkachuk can probably give you some bars.” 

“Why--” Travis swallows around a suddenly dry throat, watching Tyler poke at his phone screen, “What would you suggest if I wasn’t straight?”

Tyler half-shrugs, not even bothering to glance up, “Tkachuk can probably give you some bars,” he repeats. 

Travis chews the inside of his cheek and is quiet long enough that Tyler finally does look up. “I’m only, like, half-kidding,” he says. When Travis stays quiet Tyler asks, “Are you?” 

“Am I what?” The room feels like it’s two hundred degrees.

“Straight.”

Travis opens his mouth and closes it. “Are _ you _?” is what he ends up asking and even though he doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, it kind of does. Tyler doesnt seem phased when he replies easily, “not really.” He looks over at Travis again and this time he laughs that goofy giggle, like he’s surprised, “bud, forreal. You do know that, like, half the league have private snapchat groups, right?” 

It’s maybe the first time Travis has ever been speechless. “Oh,” he says softly. He reaches out again and presses his thumb back into Tyler’s shoulder bruise. “I’ve never.” He pauses and Tyler raises his eyebrows comically. 

“Oh, _ really _,” Tyler gasps. Travis replies “fuck off” but Tyler is already moving, sitting up to straddle Travis’s hips. 

“Is this okay?” Tyler asks. Travis reaches up and places his hand high on Tyler’s thigh to steady him. 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Travis questions back. Tyler’s phone wallpaper had been him and a girl cuddled together on a boat. 

Tyler’s watching him, careful and slow like Travis is something skittish. “Told me All-Stars get hall passes,” he admits, voice lowering. Tyler seems to be waiting for Travis to make a move but he’s rooted to the spot so Tyler leans forward, the shifting pressure on Travis’s lap making something flip deep in his belly. “You ever kiss a guy?” 

“No,” Travis breathes. Tyler pauses and then dips forward with a small peck and Travis is surprised by how normal it feels. Tyler grins. “Now you have.”

“I got off with a friend, once,” Travis admits. “Lawson Crouse? During Juniors? We bunked together for tournaments. He jerked me off.”

“Okay,” Tyler says but it’s a tone like Patty’s, when he’s only half-listening to Travis. “You want me to get you off?” 

“Yeah,” Travis breathes. He’s half-hard just from Tyler sitting on top of him which has to mean something, right. And then he repeats, more forcefully this time: “yeah.” 

Tyler kisses him again, harder this time, and shifts off of Travis to settle next to him on the bed, dipping a hand into Travis’s sweats and palming at him over his boxers. Travis tucks a hand against Tyler’s face and thumbs over his jaw, the sharp jut of bone and scratchy peach-fuzz making it impossible for Travis to shut this out of his mind like some girl at a bar. He doesn’t really have time to process it, anyway, because Tyler’s fingers push past the band of Travis’s boxers and wrap gentle but firm around his dick. “Okay?” Tyler breathes into Travis’s mouth and Travis can only nod frantically, exhaling hard when Tyler swipes his thumb over the head of Travis’s cock where he’s already leaking. 

“Jesus _ Christ,” _ Travis mutters once Tyler starts to pick up speed and he has to stop kissing him, just dropping his head back onto the pillow to fully appreciate the fact that one of Tyler’s hands fits perfectly around him. Tyler huffs a laugh and drops his head to place a quick bite at Travis’s throat. Tyler’s other hand settles against Travis’s bruised side and he thumbs along a slot between two of Travis’s ribs, the pain of the contact making Travis buck his hips upwards into Tyler’s fist. 

“Yeah, c’mon,” Tyler breathes and presses his fingers deeper into the bruise and Travis comes over Tyler’s fingers with a soft whine. He screws his eyes shut and exhales hard, only half-aware that Tyler disappears to the bathroom for a few moments and reappears with a washcloth. Travis squints an eye up at him. “Good?” Tyler gives him a shit-eating grin and tosses the washcloth down on Travis’s stomach. 

“Fuck,” Travis exhales. He sits up and reaches for Tyler’s boxers where he’s tented up and Tyler pushes his hand away gently, an eyebrow quirked. “Bud, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Travis blurts. “Just stop me if it’s bad.”

Tyler considers for a moment, scratching his fingertips lightly along the hem of his underwear and then he nods, “Jesus. Okay.” 

Travis is clumsy about it, Tyler wrapping his own hand over Travis’s twice to help him match a rhythm but Tyler does come, eventually, dropping his head onto Travis’s shoulder with a shudder. His cheeks are blotchy and pink and his wet hair has dried all weird but otherwise he’s...very normal about it all, tugging his hair up into a bun in one fluid motion before dislodging himself from Travis’s side. “Let me know if you want that private snapchat,” Tyler calls over his shoulder as he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Travis throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to think too much about the smell of Tyler still on his hands. 

##

“Did you know there’s a gay snapchat group?” are the first words out of Travis’s mouth when he arrives back in Philly for lunch with Carter and Hayes and Provy. Carter’s eyes widen comically but Provy shrugs, “yeah” around a mouthful of salad. 

“Are you in it?”

Ivan makes a face that suggests a _ no. _“I’ve only heard about it. I think Segs made it by accident when he was trying to thirst trap one night and now it’s stuck around as a joke.”

“Are _ you _in it?” Kevin chirps back at Travis, who prides himself momentarily on keeping a straight face. “I heard about it at the game this weekend. Tyler Bertuzzi is in it, I think.”

“Well tell him I want in,” Kevin says, waving a hand. “I’ve always wondered what Seg is packing that has the whole league gagging for him.”

##

Somewhere between shot number three and beer number five, Travis decides that it’s actually _ Nolan _ who needs to get laid. Something about the All-Star break really just opened the floodgates because this is Travis’s third night out in a row this week and he’s pulled girls every time with a pile of bobby pins and hairties on his nightstand to prove it. He hasn’t pulled any guys (yet?) but Tyler did add him on snapchat and sent him a dick pic like, two days ago that TK got off to. 

It’s just hard when your best friend doesn’t approve of your hormone-induced bender and Nolan absolutely _ does not _approve, his face going sour and hard whenever Travis tries to talk to him. Which really sucks, because Nolan is usually the only one who’s awake and that Travis wants to talk to after he’s called a girl an Uber home. Which, right now at National Mechanics watching Nolan stand in the corner of the bar nursing a gin and tonic looking bored, Travis decides can only be remedied by getting Nolan laid. Travis is juggling two girls cozying up to him and he wraps an arm around one of their shoulders, turning her gently towards Nolan’s direction. “My friend over there,” Travis tucks his mouth towards her ear, “looks like he could use another drink.”

He gets pulled away from watching their exchange by Carter, shoving another irish carbomb towards Travis. By the time he’s chugged it and turned back around, Nolan is half-way across the room towards him.

“Did you send those girls over to me?” Nolan asks. His face is carefully even and if Travis was sober he’d be able to tell that that meant Nolan was upset. Travis nods and gives him a goofy grin and Nolan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“Because you need to get _ fucked _, bud,” Travis drawls just to make Nolan blush and he succeeds, barking a laugh when Nolan’s ears pink up. “You like a blonde, yeah?”

“How long we been friends? And you don’t even know my type?” Nolan shoots back. Travis holds up two hands innocently. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re super-fucking-secretive whenever you bring someone home. I only know you have someone over because Hayesy comes around to bug the shit out of me. He says youre _ loud _.” Travis finishes off the last mouthful of his carbomb and is about to head for another but Nolan reaches out and grabs his wrist, anchoring him to the spot. Nolan presses a glass of water into Travis’s hands and Travis pouts but dutifully takes a gulp. “So what is your type, then? Let me help you out.”

“I dont need _ help _\--” Nolan turns venomous, for a moment, and then he pauses. Frowns down at TK. “Brunettes. Short.”

“On it,” Travis snaps his fingers and before Nolan can catch him Travis twists his wrist out of Nolan’s hands and lurches into the mob at the bar, shouting “Carter! Nolan likes short brunettes!” 

Raffl, who had watched the whole exchange from behind Nolan, pipes up: “he really is an idiot, isn’t he?” 

##

What Travis _ isn’t _ expecting is for Nolan to, like, _ really actually _leave with a girl. But that’s what happens; they close down the bar and filter onto the streets, Carter long-gone with some redhead and Travis pins his own girl up against the brick exterior of the building--Sarah, maybe?--and only manages to lick into her mouth drunkenly once before: “Travis?”

He turns and Nolan is standing on the bar’s stoop, one arm looped around a girls’ waist. She’s wearing his hoodie. Nolan looks deeply embarrassed once he realizes what he’s interrupted. “Uh, we’re going to back towards Rittenhouse. If you wanted to share an Uber.”

“No, thats--” Travis starts but Sarah--Samantha? Fuck, he’s _ really _drunk-- pipes up: “that’d be great!”

Travis glares at her but she must not notice because that’s how the four of them end up crammed in the back of a minivan, Nolan and his brunette in the front bench and Travis and Sarah-Samantha-Sandra in the very back. Travis can’t stop staring at the brunettes’ fingers, looping mindlessly through the hair at the back of Nolan’s neck. 

Travis slides his hand up Sarah’s skirt and she hums in surprise but leans into it, cupping Travis’s jaw in her hand and kissing him deep. He thumbs at her over her underwear and and she gasps into his mouth, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. 

Someone says a soft but firm “_ Teeks _ .” And Travis breaks away, brow furrowing because he’s pretty sure Sarah doesn’t know his last-name-nickname and she’s still grinding down into his hand, dropping her forehead against his chest when he breaks the kiss. Travis looks up and the _ Teeks _had come from Nolan, glancing over his shoulder at the two of them in the backseat. “You can’t keep it in your pants another, like, 6 blocks?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Travis spits and he doesn’t know _ why _he’s pissed, he just knows that he is, but Sarah turns his attention back to her with a whiney “babe” and reaces down to cup his dick through his jeans. Travis only catches Nolan’s cheeks flush deeply for a moment before he turns back to face the front of the van.

Nolan and his girl linger on the sidewalk when they get let out near Rittenhouse and Travis almost wants to hang back, watch them go to Patty’s, but Sarah is tugging him inside insistently and his erection has been pressing painfully up against his jeans for too long, now, so he shouts a half-slurred “use protection!” towards the couple. He doesn’t know if Nolan hears it or not. 

##

TK gets a face full of ice in the center of the rink, sprawling on all fours after a dirty check by a Pen that doesn’t get called. His face is hot when he finally gets up and smashes his helmet back on straight, blinking hard as he catches up to the rest of the pack and he catches Hayesy’s eye in passing. “Teeks! You good?” Kevin shouts over. 

“Hundo,” Travis bites out except he is certainly _ not _a hundo, but there’s only a minute of play left so he can suck it up. He definitely fucked up his hip and he tries to not look too much like a wounded dog for the last minute but he must be slower than usual anyway, because Malkin checks him hard up against the boards and chirps “oh, sorry” with a sneer right before the horn. 

“Fuck,” Travis huffs under his breath back in the locker room, easing his pads off his torso and thighs to show the medical team the bruise that’s already blooming across his hip and upper thigh. They poke and prod at him gently and AV hovers and this is the part that TK hates the most, maybe, that a couple bad checks and people start treating him like he’s made of glass. Like he wouldn’t get checked to absolute death if it meant another night to play and win. “I’m good, AV,” Travis spits with more heated venom than usual, gritting his teeth against a particularly tender spot on his side that gets squeezed with a gloved hand. “I can finish the game.”

AV’s brow is furrowed but he doesn’t push it and for that Travis is grateful. He’s given the clear from the medical team but with a cautious _ careful out there this period, though _. Meaning he’ll probably be on concussion protocol if he gets hit again. 

Patty, G and Ghosty are bent over a tablet, Ghost gnawing on his mouthguard and Giroux is scrubbing a hand along his jaw the way he does when he’s thinking. Patty’s face is flushed and set into a deep and firm frown that gets deeper after the tinny tablets speakers playback: _ and OH, Konecny with a big hit on center ice from Schultz but no call on it, TK taking a few seconds to get back on his feet there but play still going _ and TK can feel his face heat up again, embarrassed and defensive, “Hey, can we get the fuck back out there?” Travis bites out at the trio as the rest of the locker room starts to gather at the doorway. Giroux raises his eyebrows but otherwise ignores TK and instead finds his spot at the head of the line. Claps his gloves together and says, “Okay, boys, lets get out there and murder Schultzy and Malkin.” 

Orange certainly doesn’t waste any time doing just that, hardly a full minute into the third and Provy gets two minutes for cross-checking Schultz. Travis tries not to be _ too _fucking fond about it. 

They’re up by two when TK gets shoved again by Malkin but he catches himself more easily this time, throwing an elbow backwards to push him away but he only gets jostled again, hard enough that his helmet clunks audibly against the rink glass. 

Travis takes the bench after that anyway, though, and Patty hops out in time for the next faceoff, Nolan sparing a look at TK for a moment before play begins.

Nolan fucking _ flies _ at Malkin--who hardly touches the puck except to smack it to Crosby--and checks him so hard against the boards that he falls, getting back up helmet-less and immediately moving to throw a punch at Patty. Nolan’s surrounded by Pens but he’s locked a fist into Malkin’s jersey and he’s landed two swift punches before he’s shoved hard from behind and stumbles. Couturier is there to pull Nolan away before the refs fully break it up and Nolan gets sent to the box for roughing. Travis can’t keep his eyes off Nolan across the rink for the full two minutes. Travis kind of forgets how fucking _ scary _Patty is when he’s out for blood, quiet and still hunched over in the pentalty box but tracking Malkin across the ice and onto the bench with a sharp attention. When Malkin finds the bench he turns his focus to Schultz, just as the door for the box is opened up. 

He slams Schultz against the glass and nabs the puck with an audible _ what the fuck _from Schultz in surprise. He returns a shove to Nolan that trips him backwards and half the bench rises when Nolan’s helmeted head bounces against the ice. Travis inhales sharply but Nolan’s back on his feet and there’s no call, all the action moved downwards towards Hart in the net.

Nolan shimmies his way down the bench next to TK, only about a minute or two before Travis is set to head back out, not even enough time to fully articulate _ what the fuck is Nolan doing _. 

“What the fuck are you _ doing _,” Travis spits anyway, half rising as Frosty starts heading off the ice to switch out. Nolan’s eyes are still bright with the scuffles but he’s not smiling when he looks up at Travis, face blotchy-pink with a bright red smack across his cheekbone and temple from his fight with Malkin. 

They don’t talk for the rest of the period and then in the flurry of their loss and the locker room and reporters, Nolan gets away from him. And Travis really can’t help roaming his eyes around the room afterwards, Nolan’s still-pink cheek a beacon at the opposite side of the room and Coots next to TK with his own clump of reporters saying _ well, we’ve been trying to keep Nolan to as little contact as possible, you know, but it’s hard to do that in games like this, especially with the Pens _ and there’s been an underlying tension to the discussion, what Nolan did. Goddamn fucking lucky he didn’t get a concussion or worse in his solo scrums tonight. 

“TK, teeks. Thoughts on those couple hits you took tonight?” A question from his own reporter cluster pulls him back, half-focused. 

“Yeah, uh. Sucked,” he laughs. “Good to see Pats and Provy sticking up for me about them, though,” he tacks on, a lie through his teeth. Because _ he’s _not the one who needs protecting out there. 

It’s not very long before the locker room empties out, not much to say about the game tonight other than winning some and losing some, they don’t have a playoff run possible at this point anyway. It’s only TK and a few of the medical staff checking him over _ again _, bickering between themselves about whether or not he should be on concussion protocol and they have him do two rounds of balance and coordination tests. Travis is secretly praying not to be put on watch and he gives Lanzi his best puppy-dog eyes. It must work because he’s freed, only after pinky-promising that he’ll get lots of rest over their four day break this weekend. 

Travis is last to head to the showers, then. He does _ not _ let out a wild yelp and almost-drop-his-towel when he rounds the corner to see Nolan leaning against the sinks in flip-flops and basketball shorts, his hair half-wet still. 

“They should’ve put you on protocol,” he says dryly. 

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Travis demands instead. 

“Waiting to see if they were going to put you on protocol,” Nolan replies in that slow voice that makes TK feel like an idiot and it sparks some kind of deep-seated anger that’s been boiling in Travis’s chest all day. 

“Well they didn’t,” Travis says, sharper than he means to. “And you should be goddamn grateful you aren’t on it, either.”

Nolan rolls his eyes and it makes Travis angrier, for some reason. “You shouldn’t have gotten in those scrums today,” Travis says, trying to keep his voice from being too tense and Giroux-Sounding, “you know AV and G wanted you to stay out of shit like that.” 

“I don’t need to be babysat,” Nolan bristles. “If I can play, I can fight. And if the refs weren’t going to call Schultz’s hit on you then. We had to do _ something _ about it.”

“_ You _ didn’t!” Travis snaps. “ _ You _ didn’t have to do something, Patty! We can’t have you getting hurt again, we can’t have you out again over some stupid fucking hit,” Nolan’s gone tense, the muscle in his neck twitching as he works his jaw. “You took that hit from Schultz and your head bounced on the ice and the whole bench was ready to clear,” Travis bites. “You scared us really bad, bud. Really fucking bad.” There’s a flush high on Nolan’s chest and his face is still pink, a small bruise high on his cheek and Travis just wants to. What, yell more? Hit him himself and knock some goddamn sense into him? “We just got you back and I don’t want to have to play without you _ already _\--”

“How could I not get in a fight for you,” Nolan deadpans after a long moment. It feels like a white flag, less like a confession and more like an observation, like a fox admitting its need for blood. Just a fact of nature. Travis blinks. “What.” He already doesn’t really remember what he said. Maybe he should be on concussion protocol. 

Nolan inhales, moves close and crouches down, a few gentle fingers at the hem of the towel around Travis’s waist. “Can I see your hip?”

“Fuck you,” Travis huffs in half a laugh and Nolan gives him a venomous look up through his hair. The laugh in his throat collapses suddenly and TK whimpers, hips twitching away uselessly at the sensitivity when Nolan presses a thumb hard into the bruise on the crease of Travis’s hipbone. The knobs of Nolan’s spine jutting against his pale March skin, still weeks away from lobster red burns turning gold and afternoons at the lake, early mornings on rollerblades. Something about it makes Travis’s chest ache and Travis slots the pads of his fingertips between the vertebrae at the base of Nolan’s neck, catching at the fraying ends of his braided necklace. Nolan spooks at the sudden contact, jerking backwards from Travis and Travis pulls his hand away, frowning as Nolan stands back up. “Sorry,” Nolan says. Travis doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for but Nolan ducks out of the bathrooms before Travis can even open his mouth. 

##

Travis isn’t staring. He’s not.

It’s just that Nolan’s face is pretty-pink flushed from too many drinks and he’s got his solocup raised up in one arm, shouting along to Hayesy’s awful playlist, _ red solo cup! I fill you up! Proceed to party! _It’s not entirely out of character for Flyers’ house parties except for Nolan’s hair, pulled into a half-bun braided at the top of his head courtesy of Ryanne. Something about it is more jarring than Travis would ever admit to. 

But he’s not staring. 

“Teeks,” Carter says with an insistence that suggests it’s not the first time he’s said Travis’s name, “Flip cup?” 

“Huh? Oh. _ Oh, _ yeah. Fuck yeah,” Travis replies, tossing back the rest of the beer in his own cup before following Carter to the next room, the blare of Toby Keith still reverberating through the doorway. The song changes and TK’s competitive gene fully comes out, flipcup with Hayesy and Shayne and Ryanne on his side versus Carter and Frosty and Laughton and G. They play two fast rounds before the room fills with more bodies and more yelling, the crowd from the living room filtering into the kitchen to watch. “Ghost-- _ GHOSTY, _” Travis is screaming in half-frustration as Shayne tries and fails for the third time to flip his solo cup, the opposite side of the table two people ahead of them now. Shayne finally flips it but it’s too late, Giroux already flipping his last cup with ease in one go and the room explodes in over-hyped excitement. 

“Fuck, Ghosty! Fuck!” Travis shouts at Shayne over the yelling but they’re both laughing, Ryanne throwing her arms up in defeat and circling to the other end of the table to embrace her husband. Travis is still teasing Shayne when a warm hand finds his hip, turning him away from the table. It’s Nolan, goofy-drunk and handsy, tucking himself into Travis’s side the way he only does when he’s drunk. “Sucks,” he mumbles into Travis’s neck and TK guesses he’s referring to the lost flipcup game. Travis reaches a hand up, runs his fingers over the bump of a braid at the top of Nolan’s head and then gives his mess of a bun a gentle tug. “I’ll get over it,” Travis sighs heavily and Nolan _ giggles _, at least six drinks deep by Travis’s calculation. Nolan tugs at Travis’s hoodie string so it bounces back up and flicks TK in the chin. 

“How about some water, bud?” Travis suggests gently. Nolan grunts but doesn’t dislodge himself from Travis’s side as he begins to shuffle them towards the sink. 

Somewhere between locating more solo cups, because Travis doesn’t trust either of them to _ not _ break a _ glass _glass, and actually getting Nolan to drink water Coots marches through the kitchen holding a box of wine high over his head. TK makes a desperate grab for Nolan’s sleeve, two glasses of water still on the kitchen counter, but it’s too late, Nolan following after Coots like a lost puppy. 

##

When TK turns the bathroom knob the door only opens about a third of the way before it bumps against something. 

“Hello?” a female voice sings out from inside the room and then the door opens fully to reveal Nolan sitting on the toilet lid and Ryanne holding a safety pin. There’s two half-finished glasses of vodka-cranberries on the counter. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Travis asks but he steps into the bathroom anyway. Carter is in the room, too, sitting cross-legged in the bathtub with chin in his elbows propped up on the tub’s edge. He’s surrounded by crushed White Claw cans and he gives TK a sleepy, sloshed-drunk smile. “We’re piercing Patty’s ear,” he says, as if the icecube on a paper-towel and safety pin in Ryanne’s hand weren’t obvious. “But we were just arguing about which ear is the gay ear.”

“I still think I could do both,” Ryanne interjects. Nolan, meanwhile, is sitting patiently with his hands folded neatly in his lap. He had looked up at Travis when he first came into the bathroom but now his head is ducked down, neck and lower face flushed pink. 

“Left,” Hartsy chirps from the tub. “I think it’s the left one.”

“The gay one?” Travis clarifies and Carter nods sagely.

“It’s the right,” Nolan chimes in unexpectedly, picking his head up to look at Carter. His voice is firm but he smiles softly at the goalie, an expression that most on the team have that is especially reserved for Carter only. He’s carefully avoiding Travis’s gaze but TK is too drunk to really be offended about it because he’s fixated on the strands of hair falling over Nolan’s eyes when he ducks his head back down, says into his chest to Ryanne, “you can just do the right one now.” 

Carter’s eyes widen and then he collapses into a fit of scandalized giggles, falling backwards against the tiled showerwall. Ryanne rolls her eyes and scoops up the half-melted ice cube from the counter, pinching it against Nolan’s earlobe. Travis blinks slowly against the whole process, leaned against the closed bathroom door and transfixed as Ryanne pulls the ice away from Nolan’s now-bright-red ear lobe. Carter’s watching with his mouth wide-open in awe and Travis flinches when Ryanne pushes the sharp needle straight through Nolan’s skin, harsh and fast but Nolan doesn’t move except for squeezing his right eye shut for a second. “Shit,” Ryanne says after a beat, one hand still cupping Nolan’s ear as she looks around the bathroom. “I don’t have an earring. Patty do _ not _ move. I think I have a pair in my purse,” she insists, shuffling past Travis who stumbles to one side to let her out. Nolan stays still as commanded but there’s a thin, ruby streak of blood halfway down the side of his neck from the safety pin still sticking out of his ear. 

“You’re bleeding,” Travis observes dumbly and Nolan looks over at him and raises a hand to his neck, swiping at the blood with a thumb. It leaves a streak. 

“This is all I had,” Ryanne’s voice arrives before she does and Travis has to stumble over again to let her in. She opens a closed fist to reveal a pair of tiny gold triangle studs, plucking one up in her fingers and gently but quickly replacing the safety pin in Nolan’s ear. Nolan winces as she fastens the back on and smashes a wet cotton ball of rubbing alcohol against the new piercing for a few seconds. He turns to the wall-length mirror behind himself and, swear to god, fucking _ beams _. “Thanks, Ry,” he says softly, reaching up to prod a finger against his raw ear and Ryanne just pats him on the head and spins around, holding her arms out to the half-asleep Hartsey in the tub.

“C’mon, goalie. They’re making pizza rolls downstairs,” she says, helping him carefully out of the tub. Travis watches them go, his chest clutched with fondness for what a goddamn disaster house parties always are and how the Giroux’s somehow manage to get everyone through them unscathed. 

Well, mostly. Nolan spits into a wad of toilet paper and scrubs it along the thin line of blood on his neck. The preening expression on his face flickers off when he catches Travis still against the door, staring. “What,” he says in a voice that sounded so much like his usual annoyed voice that TK forgets, for a second, that Nolan is absolutely sloshed. 

“Gotta piss,” Travis blurts and then clamps his jaw shut to stop anything more embarrassing from coming out. Nolan blinks and then seems to realize he’s still sitting on the toilet lid. “Oh.” 

He rises, one hand still fidgeting with his red ear, and sweeps past Travis out of the bathroom, leaving behind the sickly-sweet smell of beer and rubbing alcohol and cranberry juice.

##

The season kind of just ends. Their last game is in Ottawa, so G and Ryanne and Gavin head back to Giroux’s hometown right from the arena and a number of guys take an uber to the airport together, all of them jetting off across Canada or back to the States and Travis is left staring at his duffel bag on the hotel room floor. Some kind of loneliness that he’s been smothering all season claws violently back into his chest and hollows out his ribcage and reminds him that Port Stanley is only six hours away. 

And then his room door opens and Nolan is standing there with flipflops and a hoodie on, one of Hayes’s beanies thrown on his head. “You ready?” he asks, hefting his backpack on one shoulder. He’s sleepy-soft, probably slept like a brick considering he roomed with Coots instead of TK. 

Travis follows him out of the room and they catch up with Hayes in the lobby. It’s only a handful of them getting the plane back to Philly so there’s lots of room to stretch out but Nolan settles in next to Travis regardless, dropping his head onto Travis’s shoulder and tucking himself into his side. 

##

There’s a fishing tournament at Sandy Hook the same day as Asbury Park’s season opening, which is how Travis finds himself in the late afternoon reeking of saltwater and fish by himself on the boardwalk in early May. He’s trying not to look too much like a tourist taking a selfie in front of the Madame Marie’s fortune booth and sending it off to his dad with the appropriate Springsteen lyrics attached as a caption. It’s the first Jersey Shore boardwalk he’s been to that doesnt make him want to rip his ears off his skull. It’s not as family-centric or packed with kids as Ocean City or Wildwood but still with more to do than the shore towns without a boardwalk. Travis is nursing a beer at the beachfront bar and squinting out at the water, considering if it’s worth the walk back to his Jeep to get his fishing gear when someone slides up to the fence next to him. 

“Is it rude to point out that you smell like fish?” the guy asks within a minute of standing there and Travis cocks his head over. He’s a handsome surfer-type, bright blue eyes and somehow already tan. He’s wearing a white tank-top with bold bars of rainbow across it. Travis smiles and spreads his hands out on the wooden bar in front of them, showing off his fingers still dirty with fish blood and dirt. 

“Fishing tourney up in Sandy Hook this morning,” Travis supplies and the guy hums, sticking a thumb in his mouth and then swiping it along the track of dirt on the back of Travis’s hand. Travis stares at the newly-clean patch of his pale skin under the dirt and then looks up at the guy, who smiles disarmingly. 

“I’m Sam.”

“Travis,” he replies. 

“Can I buy you a drink, Travis?”

##

It turns out that getting his dick sucked by a guy really isn’t all that different from a girl, either, and Sam is clean-shaven with a head full of wavy blonde hair that Travis can tuck his fist into. Asbury Park’s bar bathroom feels far enough away from hockey that Travis lets himself enjoy this one maybe more than Missouri, scratching his knuckles hard against Sam’s scalp in response to Sam reaching up and squeezing at the meat of Travis’s hip, pulling off his dick for a moment to bite a hickey hard into the tender skin of his inner thigh. Sam lets Travis come down his throat and Travis swipes his fingers along Sam’s lips when he swallows and then has to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to compose himself while Sam neatly pulls Travis’s shorts back up. Sam gives him a quizzical look when Travis opens his eyes and asks, “you don’t do this a lot, do you?”

##

  
  


There’s a skinny black pencil on Nolan’s bathroom counter and, really, he should know by now not to leave stuff out like this for Travis to just _ see _. He uncaps it and drags the end along the inside of his wrist and is surprised that it hurts, a little, but maybe he’s pressing too hard. It’s a smeary black with bits of navy glitter that makes Travis’s stomach do a weird flip. The tip of the eyeliner pencil breaks off against his wrist and he frowns, dragging a thumb to throw it away and it just leaves a larger smear. Travis panics, throwing the pencil into the mirror’s cabinet before leaving the bathroom as casually as he can despite the black glittery streak on his hand.

“Patty’s in that snapchat group,” Kevin says as Travis comes back to the kitchen. He says it as casually as he’d report the weather outside or last night’s scores. Travis blinks. “What?”

“That gay snapchat group you told us about? I’m pretty sure Patty’s in it.” 

The black eyeliner on the inside of Travis’s wrist suddenly feels like a lick of fire. He stands very still at the edge of the kitchen and asks tightly, “how do you know?” 

“We were laying on the couch the other night and he was swiping to his memories to show me, I dunno, his mom’s new puppy or something, but his recents were open, still. It’s called Puck Boys, which. Only Seguin would come up with a name as dumb as that, right?”

##

_ Can you add me to that snap group _ Travis texts Bertuzzi two days later. A new notification dings through a long minute later, _ Bert59 has added you to the group Puck Boys _ from Snapchat. There’s nearly 40 people in the group, some with painfully obvious handles, _ sidcros87 _ and _ tylersegu1n _ but others that aren’t as easily identifiable, _ sjjg93 _ and _ nickyyyyy _ and _ yotesfucker9. _ TK’s own snap handle is somewhere between the two considering he hasn’t changed it since high school, _ tikitorch11. _He’s been in the group for less than ten minutes before someone sends in a new snap, a red jersey rucked up and the hem held between teeth and a bearded mouth, showing off a sixpack and dark happytrail descending into a pair of gray sweats. 

Travis closes out of the app and doesn’t open it for two weeks. He’s still not even sure if Patty is in the group, because he can’t even take two minutes to look at the member list without new dick pics popping in, and why does it matter, anyway? If Nolan is in a gay group chat? _Travis_ is in that group now too, isn’t he? And Tuzzi? Fuck, even Kevin wanted to get invited just for the hell of it. 

_ So maybe it’s not that gay to be in a gay group chat, _ Travis rations hysterically with himself, trying to think of any excuse to stay in the group without actually ever opening any of the contributed photos or videos. _ The whole group is just a joke. _

His insane self-rationalizing kind of works because he forgets about it for a while, caught up in packing his summer schedule with trips and moving shit down to his Philly place to forget about the impending sexuality-crisis that has found a home in the back corner of his skull. He’s not sure if it helps or hurts that Nolan isn’t in Philly through the rest of May, gone home to spend the month with his family for a much-deserved vacation. 

So when he’s scrolling through the mess of snapchat notifications his mouth goes dry at _ SNAPCHAT from npats19 _ . He shouldn’t open it. Feels, suddenly, like the whole thing is a huge goddamn violation of privacy, of trust, of _ something. _

His dick tells him to open it, though, his lower belly burning deep with an aroused curiosity. Except there’s a stack of unopened snaps before Patty’s, a month’s worth of thirst that Travis starts to tap through slowly and then quicker, just trying to get to the most recent, and then: 

It’s a photo of Nolan on his knees with someones’ fingers in his mouth, mouth slick with spit. Travis flicks by it almost too fast and he’s only got seconds to decide if he wants to screenshot it, if he wants to just give up the ghost right then and there. Except Travis’s phone freezes momentarily and then the group refreshes, _ sidcros87, Bert59 and 14 others took a screenshot! _

It’s gone before Travis even has time to process it and he already wasted his replay of the day on a stupid video of a stupid fish that Hayes caught. 

_ Can you send me that screenshot _ Travis texts Bertuzzi before he can overthink it, his dick already stirring in his sweats. Tuzzi sends back the cry-laughing emoji and then the screenshot before Travis can be too annoyed at him. 

He stares at it for far too long. It’s taken from above by whoever’s fingers are in Nolan’s mouth. His face is blotchy and his hair is pushed back and Travis notices, somewhat rabidly, that Nolan has changed our Ryanne’s triangle stud earring for a gold hoop. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that’s got holes along the sleeves and shoulders, the collar stretched out and falling down towards his collarbones. There’s a location sticker at the bottom that says _ LAKE OF THE WOODS, MANITOBA _. Which means he’s with Towes. 

Travis is jealous and hard before he knows what to do with himself, blood hot and seeing red like just before a scrum on the ice and he taps over to his imessage with Patty, their last messages a week ago from Travis about _ tell your mom I said hi _. 

_ when are u coming back to philly bud, miss u _He sends. Nolan reads it two minutes later and doesn’t reply.

##

Travis spends the weekend with Sean fishing in Barnegat and Travis tries to be on his best behavior because Coots is a good fishing buddy, quiet and relaxed but he lets Travis talk and Travis appreciates that, even if Coots isn’t actually listening to a word he says. So Travis blames Sean’s weird too-chill vibe of not giving a shit as the reason he finishes a long-winded story about a summer at hockey camp by saying: “I think I’m gay, dude.”

The only indication that Sean hears him is his eyebrows rising behind his sunglasses but otherwise Sean doesn’t react, just keeps bobbing the end of his fishing pole between his knees. And it’s his silence that Travis finds himself talking into because well, he can’t stop now, “okay, not _ gay _ but maybe, like, bisexual? I guess? You know Karly and I broke up and goddamn Carter kept trying to get me to go pick up girls with him and I’m not saying I fucked _ Carter. _ But I went to Missouri and there was goddamn nothing to do there so, like, I hooked up with a Red Wing,” Sean has pulled his glasses to the top of his head and he’s looking at Travis, now, face blank and even except for the still-raised eyebrows, “I hooked up with Tyler Bertuzzi and he told me about this private group, and _ Patty’s _ in it, but I don’t think he knows I’m in it--”

“Teeks,” Sean says gently. Travis had started cranking his rod’s reel so hard that his knuckles were white and the line had started to pull too tight. Travis exhales in an audible whoosh. Sean looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Man. It’s alright.” 

“Nolan’s getting fucked by Towes,” Travis blurts because, like, _ why isn’t this a bigger deal to anybody else _ , “He went all the way back to Manitoba to get fucked when I’m, like, _ right here _\--” 

“Tra. Vis,” Sean says his name in two distinct beats. “You’re making this out to be way more dramatic than it actually is.” 

Travis is struck speechless at Coots’s observation and he shuts his mouth and stares out at the end of his rod. Sean seems thankful for the silence as he reels in his own hook to bait it with a new lure. 

“So you’re saying I should just, what? Fuck Nolan?”

“I’m not saying _ anything _,” Sean snaps but he’s clearly amused, smirking around the neon pink rubber lure he’s holding in his teeth while he threads his line through it. “But it seems like you want to. Just ask him.” 

“But--”

“Travis,” Sean sighs, exasperated as he finishes tying off his hook and flicks his wrist backwards to recast. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘be quiet, you’re scaring the fish’?”

##

Nolan’s been back in Philly for four days and Travis doesn’t have the guts to see him. He’s seriously considering the ramifications and legal fees of breaking his contact and trying to trade himself to, like, Edmonton or something when Hayes texts him _ SPRUCE HARBOR PARK 7PM BE THERE OR YOURE A PUSSY _. 

Travis gets showered and dressed quicker than he ever has because he has to get out of his apartment and he misses Hayes. He’s not hard to pick out of the gathering weekend crowds along the boardwalk, sticking out tall and loud among the others in the group with JVR, Loughton and Nisky. They all shout when they see Travis and Hayes pummels him into a half-hug half-headlock, scrubbing his knuckles hard against Travis’s scalp.  
  
“We’re getting beers, what do you want? Go steal a couple hammocks for us. Fight some children for them if you have to,” Hayes instructs, already a few steps towards the cocktail and beer foodtruck. “Patty’s gonna want a hammock.”

“Patty’s coming?” Travis asks but Hayes is already gone to the drink line and JVR and Nisky are headed towards the trees. It’s still early enough in the evening where there’s a few hammocks open. The one that Travis settles into smells like weed. 

He’s caught between wanting to leave and knowing that if he gives up a hammock Hayes will exile him for the foreseeable future, sitting in the hammock with his feet on the ground so it sags towards the grass below.

Someone yells and grabs Travis at the waist from behind and Travis yelps, flopping backwards into the hammock in an attempt to spin around too fast. Patty is doubled-over behind him laughing. “_ You _ fucking--” and Travis has to stop himself because there are children around. 

Nolan finishes laughing and swipes away imaginary tears from his cheeks and then lifts a leg, nudging Travis’s hip with his kneecap. “Shove over.”

There’s a bit of a struggle, trying to get two grown men to fit into a hammock without flipping it or sagging it to the ground but they manage, Nolan with an arm looped up above Travis’s head. He looks good, sunburn-turning-tan and his hair has gotten longer, evening out between his in-season muscle and his summer scrawniness. “Miss me?”

“Yeah, dick,” Travis grumbles, still upset about the scare. “You left me on read, remember?”

Nolan’s neck pinks up but he escapes the question as Hayes approaches with handfuls of beer bottles pinched at their necks, passing two to TK and Nolan and scruffing a hand through Nolan’s hair in a hello before he goes to find James and Nisky. 

“Can I ask you something,” Nolan asks, voice so careful and even that Travis doesn’t know what to expect. “Are you fucking Tyler Bertuzzi?”

It’s so out of left field that Travis flinches, half a swig of beer still in his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“Tyler Bertuzzi. On the Red Wings. Are you hooking up?”

“What?” Travis is short-circuiting and Nolan looks like he wants to hit him. 

“I know he added you to the snapchat group, I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh.” Travis needs a minute to think but Nolan is right next to him, smelling like sunscreen and girly shampoo and he watches Travis with a sharp, focused look. Travis closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We, uh. He got me off. At the All-Star break.”

Nolan exhales low and slow and Travis watches his torso rise and sink with the motion. “Is that it?” 

“Well. Yeah,” Travis says simply, _ except for the dick pics in Snapchat _being mutually understood. Nolan hums. “I didn’t know you knew I was in that group,” Travis tacks on like some kind of white flag.

“I didn’t know you were into guys,” Nolan’s voice is terse, testing the water, and he’s looked away from Travis to stare hard at his hands folded around his beer bottle. 

“I’m--” Travis’s knee-jerk response is almost _ I’m not _ but then he bites his tongue because _ that _ fucking ship set sail, like, weeks ago. “I didn’t either,” is what he says instead. 

“You didn’t screenshot what I sent, though,” Nolan mutters under his breath and Travis’s eyes shoot upwards in surprise. “There’s some guys who are in that group as a joke, like.” He goes quiet.

  
It’s Travis’s turn to be confused and his only response is to dig out his phone from his pocket that’s crammed between the two of them and he taps into his photo album, turning his screen so Nolan can see the screenshot of himself. “I had to ask Tyler for it,” Travis admits. “Are you saying you _ wanted _me to screenshot it?”

Nolan’s face is bright red up to his ears, the gold hoop glinting when he reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ear and Travis is hit with a punch of tenderness about it, Nolan’s voice quiet when he says, “I’ve never sent anything in there before.”

Travis has a million questions, _ why didn’t you just send it to me then _ and _ how many players are in your DMs right now _ and _ why did you go to Towes _ and _ I miss you so fucking much I can’t bear it _ but Nolan tips his head sideways, his forehead pressed against the plastic piece of Travis’s backwards hat. “I was just. Teeks, watching you and Carter fuck the entire city of Philadelphia for a whole season? That _ sucked _ ,” Nolan whispers. “And then to see you pop into, like, the only fucking place on _ earth _ that I never expected to see you? And you got added by a _ Red Wing _?” 

Travis’s chest aches with it, the soft hurt in Nolan’s voice. They lay quiet for a long moment, Nolan with his eyes closed and Travis looking down at Nolan’s mouth. He ducks down and kisses Nolan soft but quick and then pulls back, half-expecting to get punched or yelled at.

Nolan exhales instead and reaches over, tucking Travis’s chin between his fingers and kissing him fully.

##

So, Nolan Patrick is kind of a slut.

They’re not _ dating- _ dating but Travis does ask one night, well-fucked and pressing a finger into a fresh hickey on Nolan’s chest, how many players are in Nolan’s DMs. So Nolan rolls over for his phone and turns back to show him, scrolling his thumb twice down the screen to show all the bold, un-read DMs on instagram and then switching to snapchat where there’s an equally-long list of blue unopened messages as well. “Jealous?” Nolan teases but Travis hums an unhappy growl deep in his throat because, well, _ yeah _. Nolan pouts and sits up, blanket pooling around his lap and Travis reaches over to run a thumb over the finger-shaped bruises he left on Nolan’s hip. 

Nolan rolls his eyes and shuffles over, sitting on Travis’s thighs while he takes Travis’s phone from the nightstand and drops it with a _ thump _ on Travis’s chest. “Tell them to back off, then,” Nolan says with a shrug. Travis takes a minute to catch on and then he opens snapchat and flips them so Nolan’s back is pressed into the mattress. He doesn’t include Nolan’s face but it’s enough to get the hint, anyway, Travis resting a thumb on Nolan’s cherry-red bottom lip and snapping a photo of the purple and red bites trailing Nolan’s neck and upper chest. 

_ Bert59, sjjg93 and 10 others took a screenshot! _ Rolls through Travis’s notifications a few minutes later and then in a rare moment the group’s chat lights up with a crying-sad face from _ segu1n _. Nolan collapses back next to Travis and cranes his head onto his chest to peer at the phone and he just laughs, tucking his smile into Travis’s shoulder. The softest thing on earth. 

**Author's Note:**

> im on twitter if u want to share ur brain worms with me @misconductchirp


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